a Waste of Priorities
by Singular Poisonous Ashes
Summary: He'd been wasting his life on a hospital bed. Unable to move, paralyzed... only for death to act as a peculiar sort of salvation. An OC with Guillian-barre syndrome reborn as a Fanalis story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Chapter one.

Guillian-barre syndrome. That was what it was called - a paralysation of the body brought by an otherwise innocuous infection. They'd caught it late, so it was no longer possible to treat it. So now he was here, wasting away upon a hospital bed, only rarely visited by family members who'd already written him off as dead.

Noah couldn't even turn himself around in the bed, not with his arms completely frozen. No, he was forced to stare at the ceiling, all day, all night. Knowing that if there was something wrong, all he'd be able to do was shout. He wouldn't be able to move. He wouldn't be able to defend himself. He would be defenseless.

He didn't feel good, with difficulty swallowing and unable to eat as he would like. It was like he'd been reduced back to the diminutive state of an infant and his carers tended to treat him like one. He'd had this sickness since he was eight years old and by then eleven consequent years had passed. That meant that Noah was an adult, even if it did not seem that way most of the time.

It was true that Guillian-barre syndrome should only take some six to eight weeks from onset, though it did happen that a patient stayed inflicted a whole year. That was for those that didn't have relapses, or parents who thought it was better for him to stay in a hospital where he could immediately be treated, and not back home.

He wanted to be home. If Noah was going to die, he wanted to be surrounded by his three sisters, even if they did not visit. They were just following their parents example. He couldn't really hate them, since he would also have wanted to stay home rather than stay at the bedside of someone who wasn't going to get better.

Noah closed his eyes, breathing shallowly, unable to even clench the rough material of his bed sheets. A few times, when he breathed, he felt like he wouldn't be able to take his next breath. A shortness of breathe, they called it, but it felt more like the stoppage of his windpipe.

That had been coming more and more frequently, but he didn't tell his carers. They'd put him on a tube if otherwise. He couldn't have that - it would just mean the proliferation of being helpless. That he couldn't even control his own respiratory system. If so, he would rather die.

Noah frowned, feeling and hearing the rattling of his own breath wheeze out into the air. There really wasn't a warning. One minute he was breathing like a normal, healthy person, if somewhat more shallow, and the next he was choking on his own saliva as his windpipe seemed to close up.

He made a belated effort to scream, then realized he didn't really have the capacity to do that. Besides, this was better, right? If he died, if he got it over with. . . Wouldn't it be better? His family already thought him deceased, so it wasn't like there would be any problem from that direction.

His eyes slipped shut for that one final time.

When they opened again, it was to cahnopy. Throbbing sounds echoed around his ears. He felt that he was encased in some warm fluid, but he had no clue whatever it was. He was surprised that he was still alive, in all actuality. When he opened his eyes, or tried to, he found that he couldn't like some elastic string was keeping them shut.

He slipped back to sleep again, feeling extremely exhausted such that he could even ignore all the noise and movement taking place around him. When he woke up next, he found that he'd been moved away from the previous area, and was now wrapped in what seemed to be a blanket. He could see, but it was fuzzy and from what he saw everything looked to be of a far greater dimension.

It was almost as if he had been de-aged to back when he had been a baby, but that was impossible . . . . right? His eyelashes fluttered as he tried to inspect his new surroundings from the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, in the process of that, he was lifted to someone's face. That someone looked like a giant, eyes as big as his handspan and nose about the size of a rattle.

The woman (as the giant was a female) cooed at him with nonsensical sounds, and then he was taking from the woman and placed in another person's arms. Now he was really confused. Moving would be useless, considering his illness and all, so he couldn't see whoever it was that had a hold of him now. All he knew was, that he couldn't hear that well - everything came from a distance, as if his head had been ducked underwater.

So, he wasn't dead, but what was he? Had the hospital gotten enough with him, and as such sold him to a bunch of scientists to study and experiment on? Was that why it felt like he'd lost more than a few inches, and that his senses (outside of the obvious) weren't working as well as they should? He could see better from far away than from nearby.

Well, whatever it was, he wasn't happy that they were swapping him around and carrying him without permission and made his displeasure clear through hisses and growls. This only seemed to amuse the woman, who chuckled and glanced at her partner, describing something in that strange language of theirs.

Noah wondered whether he should fall silent, and whether that would make his displeasure come across as well as he wanted it to. So he did, but that only made the woman's partner smile a soft smile, and stroke his head with a gigantic finger. He tried to bite it, but the man then bopped his appendage against Noah's nose in reprimand. Noah wrinkled it, eyes  
>watering.<p>

The man decided to take his leave, five minutes later, and to Noah's delight. After the man had dared touch him, Noah wasn't so pleased with him. The woman allowed him some moments respite, walking away from where he had been placed (in a rocking chair - were they for real?) to seat herself at a marble white table that seemed to have been fastened to the ground.

Now Noah was really curious. What had been done to him? Why was he being treated like a child? And where exactly was he, if he wasn't in the hospital? All these questions and more tolled around his head, and he was starting to feel sick to his stomach with a premonition that things weren't as they seemed, and that he was in trouble.

Still, he couldn't prevent himself from dozing of halfway through his introspection. As it were, he felt rather well rested when the woman woke him up next to feed him. It was mush - babies food - as well as a bottle of milk. He was hungry so he didn't complain, but he wished he had some real food to eat, like steak or hamburgers. Meat.

Once he was done with his meal, and had drank about half of his bottle, she burped him! As if he really were a baby! He tried to complain, tried to gnaw off the knuckles of her hand, but he couldn't. Because he no longer had any teeth. Okay, could someone tell Noah what the hell was going on!?

He was so furious, and quite a bit terrified, that he slapped out despite knowing that the muscles of his arms were so weak, he wouldn't even be able to. He was met with a feeling like the world had turned upside down when, instead of him flopping like a dead fish, his arms did their job. . . . he . . . he could move them!

Of course, he immediately retracted his appendages to stare at them in wonder. The woman, with a warm curve to her lips, stroked the crown of his head before she returned to the wooden statue she had been in the middle of carving. What did this mean? . . . What if he had died, at that time, and he'd been reborn? Then the warm fluid was amniostic liquid and the catopany was probably just the sound of his mother's heart beating.

If so, was the woman now carving into a piece of wood actually his new mother? If so, what about siblings? Did he have any siblings? He could feel dawning excitement race through his newborns veins and he flailed his arms in his delight. He could move! He could do anything he wanted! The Guillian-barre syndrome was now a non issue!

Well, he still couldn't support his head by himself but that was to be expected. He was only a newborn child, after all. It was actually surprising that he did have as much freedom of movement that he already had. As far as he knew, infants also had to get used to their limbs and wouldn't be all that good at using them.

Maybe, since he'd died paralysed, fate had been kind to him and given him a splended body who's athletic ability was far beyond the norm. If so, he couldn't wait for him to grow, be able to eat loads and load of meat, and be able to actually join a sport, any sport. Maybe something like rowing would be cool? Ooh, oh, what if he joined a track club? Oh, the possibilities!

He was grinning tooth by tooth and was pretty sure if his new mother saw him she would freak. She didn't though, back still turned, full concentration on her carving. She had dark red hair and a tan trousers held loosely together by a leather bucklet. She looked younger than his mother had been. He wondered whether the man who'd been there earlier was his father, and if so, why he wasn't there.

Mah, he was tired again. Apparently being an infant tired you out, who would have know? Noah yawned widely and at the nose, the woman looked up. Seeing that he was getting drowsy, she stood up from her chair and came over to retrieve him from his. She carried Noah all the way to an deserted alcove in the cave network which he supposed was their house, were a makeshift crib had been installed. He was tucked in and then sung to by the woman's soothingly low alto.

And that is how it went for his first few months - a tiredness that affected him to the bone taking hold of them and forcing him to be quite unconcious for his first year. Time sped past him until he was two years old, and in possession of a rudimentary knowledge of his mother's language.

He'd also seen more from his surroundings, and had found to his suprise that he seemed to have been reincarnated in the continent of Afrika, though his people called it the dark continent for some reason or the other. Noah was interested in what country exactly he'd been reborn, but inquirings upon the matter had been treated with confusion so he'd been forced to drop the subject before anyone became suspicious of him.

The people he was surrounded with weren't tanned, though, so he supposed their ancestors hadn't originally come from the region. Instead, his mother and he both had thick copper hair, red eyes and peach skin. They looked a lot like the man who sometimes visited but whom Noah was perfectly sure was his uncle and not his father. Hence, Noah had remained ignorant of his biological footprint, but he actually didn't care, since he didn't want some interloper messing up the comfortable rhythm he and his mom had going on.

Speaking of things Noah also had in common with those two, was their athletic ability. His new mother was truly strong, able to cut down woods with just a chop of a flat hand, and was then able to carry it to the location they claimed as home. She was able to start a fire with the use of just one spark, as well as protect the both of them from the wild life that tried to steal their hunt at the end of the day. It was amazing and the woman had surely become his rolemodel. She was much better than his previous parents, that was for sure.

At the moment, he was being taught how to create his own shoes from the leather they'd harvested from a boar that they'd come across the day before. "Like this?" Noah asked, his voice still a bit unfamiliar to him since it wasn't his usual bass but more of a high pitched squeak. He had driven a needle through the hide, the sunlight beaming brightly down upon them were they sat in the forest glade and the shadow of a clutch of trees.

His mother hummed in agreement, her face the apathetic mask it always was, as she adjusted his grip. "That was good, but this would be better, since there would be less resistance at this part of the leather." She strung their hands together, her skin still in possession of the firmness of youth. She must have been young when she had him - was young still. Noah wondered for a second time, exactly how he'd come to be.

Noah lifted his face, basking in the rays. "I see," he answered his mother. The lesson resumed in renewed silence until he had two matching shoes at his disposal. His mother smiled down proudly at him, and helped him put them on, one shoe at a time. Noah pivoted on his foot, trying them out by running back the way they came from. They weren't worn in, like his other shoes, but they were far more comfortable than the modern varieties he was used to.

He was slowly but surely getting used to the absence of technology, his new powerful body, and his new mother. The cave network that was their home held barely any visitors, and when it did it was always that man, but Noah thought that the man wasn't his father. The man's interaction's with his mother were too platonic for that, and also the man looked a lot like them, so he was most likely Noah's uncle. Noah was fine with that, though, since he was still getting used to everything and the appearance of more people would probably be a bit overwhelming for now.

Noah shifted in place, turning on his side to watch his mother as she strung together another shoe for him. The woman wore absolutely no makeup, but her features were enhanced anyway by the help of the striking red of her eyes. Noah wondered rather belatedly whether the same effect would occur to him as well. He'd watched his reflection in the shiny spots of the cave, and he was far plainer than her despite the resemblance.

"Noah," mother called, snapping him out of his revelry. She'd pulled herself up to her feet, and was now extending a helping hand his way. Noah hoisted himself up, patting his knees from the sand and then went and followed his mother as they trekked back to their cave. They arrived there just as the sun went down, which was prime time for predators to become up and about and the reason why they'd returned. Mother was really strong and no predator would be able to get the best of her, but Noah thought it likely he would still have some trouble in that aspect.

* * *

><p>AN not the most loyal description of Guillian Barre syndrome, but I tried my best. Also a short chapter, but I'm putting it on anyways. This is the first time I've actually published a male OC, probably because I just like female OC's better. Ah well - one out of five is good enough, right? ;) Also short and cuts of rather abruptly. I'll improve once I get started, but I'm always more lukewarm at the start of a fic.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Chapter two.

This was Noah's daily life, and it continued like this for a while, as Noah learned the strange language the people spoke there through osmosis, was taught some basic mathematics as well as carpentry, until he reached the age of four. That was when someone came to visit the cave network that was his and his mother's home. It was an older man, and it wasn't his uncle who still visited sporadically. It was a man he hadn't seen before, but he seemed to be related to his mother, too – considering the red hair he had. Still, it was a lighter shade, more sunset than copper.

"What are you doing here?" mother intervened, staring at him with an air of suspicion at the front of the door to Noah's room. She was preventing the man from making amends to enter, as he had been trying just a second earlier. Noah had been asleep, but had woken up at the unfamiliar presence, like his mother had taught him to do for if they were outside on a hunting trip that continued overnight. She had thought of everything, in that regard. He slid down from his cot, landing with a thump onto the rug splayed in front of his bed to keep his feet warm.

"Now now, I don't mean any trouble," the man tried to placate, his hands held aloft. "I just wanted to meet my son. Is that so bad?" Noah perked his ears at the man's words. Son? Did that mean this man was his biological father?  
>"Yeah, right, and that after abandoning him, and me, after he was born. What do you really want from us, Aalok?" There was a tenseness to her that Noah had never seen before. He frowned, worried, and made to walk towards her.<p>

"Stand back, Noah," mother snapped, her obvious anxiety making her tone harsh. He winced, unused to the tone since mother tended to be soft-spoken at all times, considering a predator could easily take note of their locations by factoring in the sounds they made.  
>"Sheesh, is that how you treat him?" The man asked, also starting to get on edge. "Then I don't see why I should leave, when it would be better for my son to take him with me."<br>"Take him with you were? Back to the tribes where so many children have already been abducted by the outsiders that you were as foolish as to allow in?"

So, mother was living here, isolated from most everyone, because of him? Noah took a step forwards, towards his mother again. That…..it couldn't be, right? His mother wouldn't leave everything behind just for his sake? Just for his safety? Noah tried to shake the trail of thought from clinging on his mind, but was unable to. Great, now he was starting to feel guilty.  
>"Me?" Aalok answered, gesturing at himself with the flat of his hand. "That sure is a wild accusation. Where is your proof?"<p>

Mother scoffed at him, at his ploy at innocence, and shook her head like she couldn't believe he'd even try to excuse himself. "The money. The house. The modern apparatus. Mmm, how did you end up with all that, I wonder?" He had an immediate reaction to that, and a violent one at that.  
>"It was for our sake! It was for you, my beloved!" his voice was starting to break, to wave, but it seemed put-on. "It was because our ways were getting obsolete. They would have gotten in – have, even – in other tribes. It was either adapt, or end up a slave!"<p>

"Better that, than betray everyone and everything I know," her stance betrayed a note of finality, as she shuffled her feet apart and clenched her hands into fists, moving one in front of her and one near her face. "Get back, Noah," she repeated her earlier words, having regained a sense of equilibrium so it was now said in a more pleasant, neutral tone. Of course, Noah could sense the underlying hollowness to the confidence she now seemed capable of emitting. It was the same as him, when he'd finally given up on being able to live a normal life. She was planning to die here and for his sake, take Aalok with her.

"Noo!" Noah rejected as he made an overdue decision to but in between them. The lie felt like acid on his tongue, but knowing his mother as he did, he knew it might be the only thing capable of getting her to back down: "I don't want you to kill my father!" Mother stumbled at his yell, her eyes growing wider until they resembled the moon outside. Quick as a flash, as the reaper of death himself, Noah's father made sure not to let her distraction go to waste. There was a hilt sticking out of mother's chest, and some liquid the same colour as the man's hair dribbled from the wound. Noah's legs weakened and his knees hit the floor, and he was powerless to stop them.

"Ah, troublesome troublesome. I was expecting her to have changed – four years in isolation does that to you, doesn't it? – but I should have realized. This is my sweetheart we're talking about. If she wasn't so stubborn, I wouldn't have given her a second look," the man who'd killed his mother said in a conversational tone, his eyes tilted downwards to mother's corpse. There was a wide grin on his face. "Ah well. Women, am I right?" he chuckled underneath his breath, finally averting his gaze from the scene to fix sky-blue eyes towards Noah instead. There was so much emotion in his eyes, compared to his mother's, which were dull and dead. Noah would have vomited if he could.

"Don't get me wrong, though. You're the only thing I have left of her, now. I'll treat you like the Holy Grail – but ah, you wouldn't understand that reference, would you?" he was chuckling again, his eyes incredibly warm as he took step after step towards Noah. Noah was trembling from head to toe, but outside of that, he couldn't move, his breathing irregular. Aalok sank to his knees, heaving Noah onto his shoulder by his waist. He straightened to a stand, taking furtive glances around the place. "So, son of mine, is there something you'd miss terribly once we leave? I'll go and bring it with us, don't you worry about a thing." His eyes crinkled with a distant kind of cheer, like he wasn't even hearing himself.

_I'd miss mother!_ Noah wailed, but his vocal cords would not work. It had happened – his fairytale life has shattered to pieces. He couldn't move. He could smell it – the absence of any natural smells – nothing but a sterilized environment! Flashbacks of the hospital commenced, as he was dragged bodily outside of the cave network and then into a vehicle. There was, as if from underwater, the growl of an engine.  
>"Sorry son," Aalok began, apologetically, "But it would be better if you close your eyes for this part of the trip. We don't want you returning here anytime soon, do we?" A hand stroking the crown of his head, and darkness.<p>

Noah woke up to outsiders, people that didn't look like him, or his mother. Tanned people, pale people, sunburnt people….. there were many of them, all setting up camp. Aalok was the only one with the distinct Fanalis colouring. He'd heard from his mother, before, that a Fanalis was what he was. He was feeling shy, that, and these people were obviously in cahoots with his mother's killer, so he couldn't rest easy knowing that. Not even when an older pair of girls waved for him at the fire, where they were cooking some meat. Noah's mouth was watering simply at the scent and their smiles only grew as they noticed his internal conflict. Sadists. His mother's murderer and palls were all a bunch of unforgiveable sadists.

Still, so far as his mother having died, he hadn't yet had a meltdown. Or maybe he had, earlier, when he hadn't been able to move as if once again in the control of the illness he'd thought he'd left behind. He just felt…. Well, he felt like everything that happened, had happened. It was over and done with. He couldn't have change anything of it. So, there was no reason to angst about it, right?

More importantly, he needed to get away from this camp and his mother's murderer. Who know what that man would do to him, when he'd been perfectly fine with killing the one he'd proclaimed to 'love?' Secondly, there was there was the reappearance of his illness to worry about, too. He'd been so happy when he'd woken up with a body that could move.

"What are you glaring at so pensively?" A boy asked him, about his own age.  
>"What d'ya mean?" Noah countered, since he had no clue what 'pensively,' meant. The other frowned, his green eyes now standing disinterested since Noah had shown himself to be less of an intellectual equal than he had thought. He seemed ready to exit from the one-sided conversation when a commotion to the outskirts of the camps drew both boys attention. Two adults, a woman and a man, were dragging in the haggard from of a young girl. The girl was bawling, big fat tears falling over her cheeks. Noah immediately noticed how much she resembled his mother and stiffened up.<p>

"Oh, it's just one of the slaves," the other realized, his tone verging on unconcerned. He shrugged, turning away from the scene back to facing Noah. "My dad says he's best friends with your dad, so we'll have to be friends too." He stuck out his hand, obviously for a handshake like what he must have seen his parents doing. Noah could sense the other had dumbed himself down, but couldn't care less. Instead, like a hunted rabbit, he couldn't help staring at the taferail taking place not that far from him. He could help her, he could do something about it. And slaves? Did this have anything to do with what his mother said her murderer was to blame off?

"No thanks," Noah absently batted the other's hands away. Where did he stand in regards to the camp? If he stopped them from treating her so roughly, would there be any adverse consequences? His mind made up, he went towards the two teens sitting around the fire, leaving behind a mortally offended six year old. Once there, he addressed one of the girls: the one with her brown hair swept back in a braid. Gesturing towards the scene, he asked: "If I tried to intervene, would that be okay?" As far as broadcasting his intentions went, he probably couldn't have done it in a more harmless way.

"That's the slave that tends to the animals, and she's pretty important. So no, you wouldn't be reprimanded if you reason with those two." Her sister concurred, adding that the female was called Ave and the other Nabarun. He thanked them for the information and sped off to where the child had just been slapped on the face for not kneeling fast enough. He tugged at Nabarun's sleeve, since that was the tallest he could reach.  
>"Excuse me, but isn't the slave," he hesitated at the word, "The one who looks after the animals? If you break her, she won't be able to work anymore, you know." The words were like acid on his tongue, but it needed to be done.<p>

"There's no need to be gentle," Ave sneered in answer, tugging on the girl's ponytail to regain her attention, as she'd been staring at Noah with her teary eyes full of hope. He swallowed down his anger and tried a twitch of a smile. "I'll tell on you. I'll tell my dad, and you'll be sorry." He wanted to rub himself raw at the sound of him actually calling that kin-killer his dad.

Disgusting. Shudders ran down his spine. He'd have to take a long back to make up for it, and maybe go on a meat fast for however long he felt necessary to atone. _Mother in heaven, please forgive me._ That seemed to do the trick, though and thankfully as Noah didn't think him fully able to continue this charade to it's natural end. Ave let go of the girl, who fell to her knees at the rough shove, and she and Nabarun disappeared towards one of the tents that had been set up.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and he grew tense, rigidly turning his neck to see the kin-killer standing there in all his arrogant duplicity. "That was well thought out, son," he praised, lavishing him with a broad grin and a thumbs up. "I see you aren't your mother's son for nothing. I'll have to keep a close eye on you, I think. Now, come along, I have to introduce you to my closest associate."

The hand on his shoulder steered him southwards, towards one of the greater tents that had been set up there. They entered through the flap. There was a man there, who bared only a faint resemblance to the arrogant little brat who'd friendship Noah had turned down. He had a smile in store for Noah, though his was twitchy and obviously fake. Noah relaxed a bit. Somebody who couldn't even put up a convincing facade for a colleague's sake wasn't someone he had to worry about.

"Noah, this is Nayan, my dear friend. Nayan, this is the son I told you about. He's her splitting image, isn't he?" His demeanor was cheerful despite pointedly referencing the woman he'd killed. Noah bristled at the disregard aimed towards the woman who'd given him life, and had saved him from a life in hell, if indirectly. Nayan mumbled back something resembling a greeting.

His voice was coarse, as if he didn't use it often enough, and he was quite heavily built, though clean shaven. He had blonde spiky hair that shot straight upwards from the roots, and it didn't seem like he used any product to keep it that way. "We have Nayan to thank for the opulent lifestyle I have lived for these past years. Hah! Not that you've yet to enjoy the fruits of my labour, but there's no need to worry. We're going straight home once my business here is done."

"That's not home," he muttered back sullenly, but only under his breath. Even if Nayan was no threat to him, there was no harm in keeping up the impression that he wasn't resisting the kin-killer's attempts to make him feel at home. The hand on his shoulder squeezed briefly, and Noah was momentarily scared that Aalok had heard his muttered defiance.

No, it seemed that wasn't true, as he only chastened Noah to speak up next time when in the presence of his dear friend Nayan. "In any case, now that the introductions are done, why don't we have a bit of a celebration?" the kin-killer suggested, an obvious hint aimed at his disgruntled associate. "There's also the funeral wake that we'll have to deal with….my son's mother recently died, you see." Noah could only gape at him for his unforgiveable audacity.

"You told me," Nayan grunted, expressed without much emotion. To him, it was simply business as usual. It wasn't as if he'd personally met the woman, or heard about her besides of the titbits Aalok liked to scatter just in case any of them were aware of her location. None of Nayan's crew had been, but that was ancient history. The woman had died now, and her son was in her murderer's hands, but it was also his father. Nayan saw no harm in allowing the child his freedom and a status similar to Aalok's, since it was his spawn and as Aalok had shown before, he could look after his own things. "I know," Aalok chirped, also interrupting his musing in the process, "So I know you won't stop me from using your own stash to hold a memorial with, right? I mean, it's very Important in Fanalis culture that we think of the dead, or they won't be able to pass over in peace."

Noah couldn't hold his breathe any longer: "And so she won't be able to haunt you, right?" He hissed. It didn't seem to faze the kin-killer at all.  
>"That is exactly what I had in mind. Wow, you must really be my son, to be able to deduce that so quickly!" Noah frowned, unable to recognise he fourth last letter in his sentence. "That you aren't replying means I'm correct. Spirits for everyone!" He spun on his heel and pulled Noah with him, shouting out the 'good news,' for everyone to hear.<p>

The two teen girls perked up, whispering excitedly to one another, and even the brat seemed to react to the news with a skip in his step. It was enough to make Noah want to vomit but, pale, he decided to wait it out. If he got in trouble now his mother's death was in vain. All he had to do was wait it out, and if everyone was drunk by the time night fell….that's when he decided to strike.

* * *

><p>AN poor Noah, it went from good to bad to worse. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire! Murphy's law as always, well in effect! Anyways, I'd really like a review to figure out whether you readers like where I'm going with this. It's even alright to berate me. Just, give me some clue? Then I'd know how to continue to maximize the enjoyment my readers get out of it, and hence my own enjoyment too! I am but your humble servant, dear readers. And depending on whether this stays popular, I'll be likely to update this quicker! (Even if I have to ignore the four other stories I've recently posted. Shh, don't tell anyone.)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Chapter three.

As it would seem, the people of the camp all seemed very happy to get drunk - even the children. Noah himself was in two minds about this, because as much as he wanted to protest if only because of his twenty-first century morals, the kid he'd be protecting wouldn't even shown any gratitude over Noah's good deed. He was also feeling less than charitable towards them all, so didn't feel like going the extra mile when the boy would only grow up as his father. The worst thing was the bonfire that had been set up, said to be in remembrance of his mother. What exactly was the kin-killer implying with that? He glared at the man with his skepticism clear.

Said man was sitting right next to him in the circle around the fire, along with the others from the camp. The sisters sat opposite him, at the other side of the fire. The boy was seated next to his father, who was the only one who'd dragged a chair over to the bonfire, as everyone else was alright using the earth as their cushion. Half-way through the festivities, Noah noticed that the kin-killer, out of them all, was drinking the least. When asked, the kin-killer proclaimed that he couldn't drink as long as Noah wasn't even enjoying himself. That seemed to be his version of morals, nevermind the fact that Noah was four years old.

Noah's eyes narrowed over the rumbling of his stomach (he hadn't eaten for a while.) The kin-killer's surprising decision wouldn't do. This wasn't how it was meant to go. With that in mind, he stretched his hand over to the bottle of spirits that lay some feet away from him. He took a deep breath, before bringing the opening to his lips. He took a deep gulp, before placing the bottle into his senior's hands. The kin-killer took his cue and began to drink way more than before. More bottles were ordered from Nayan's stash, the slave obediently fetching it for them.

When the bottle came Noah's way again, he let most of the drink run down his collar past the corners of his mouth while making as if he took another deep gulp. "How do you like this stuff? Good huh?" the kin-killer slapped his companion on the back. "I can always depend on Nayan for a good drink. Hahahah!" Noah couldn't crop up a smile, so kept his expression neutral instead, and handed him back the bottle in the process. It was some four hours later that Noah finally sat up, everyone around him blackout drunk.

He swayed as he walked - he'd been unable to completely spit the alcohol out, so it was affecting him too. He looked around the camp, having forgotten what exactly his plan had been. Alcohol wasn't the best, especially not if you were still four years old...actually, that'd make it the first time he'd tasted alcohol in his life, even though the country he'd lived in had allowed those eighteen and older to drink. Noah was about to start running, since he'd have to cross a lot of distance if he didn't want to be taken back here when everyone woke up, when the slave girl that tends to the animals stepped in front of him.

"You look like you're planning something, sir," she pointed out, her hands clasped at the small of her back. Seeing that he wasn't protesting her words, she looked to the side and said, "So, are you going to take revenge for your mother, sir?" So everyone on camp knew what had happened now. Noah grimaced, as he didn't know how to answer. He didn't want to, because his mother's goal had been to keep him alive. So Noah had decided to stick to it, no matter what.  
>"I was going to run away," he finally sighed, toeing the sand at his feet. To her, his decision was unfathomable<p>

"You won't?" she sounded baffled, before she narrowed her eyes. "Why wouldn't you, sir? Your mother, she probably can't rest in peace as long as her killer is still out there." Her tone was reasonable, and Noah found himself tempted. Shaking his head, he rid himself of that trail of thought.  
>"Do you know what really happened?" he asked her instead. She shook her head in negative. "Mama tried to kill that man, even if she would die trying to take him with her. I can't let that go to waste."<p>

The girl wrinkled her nose, crimson eyes darkening. "Then why is he still alive?" She gestured at the one still snoring in the circle with all the other people. "She wasn't strong enough?" he answered with a shrug of his shoulders.  
>"Factually untrue. She was a pure-blood Fanalis. He's only a quarter blood, which is why he has blue eyes." He shrugged again, because he didn't know much about his clan except what his mother had taught him.<p>

She fixed intense eyes on his, like she could see into his soul. "I know," she stated with the air of someone come to an unpleasant realization. She swung her linked hands behind her. "Something must have happened that she hadn't expected. Something to distract her." Her eyes really were red, as urgent like that of a stoplight. "Sir, could you tell me what happened?" Noah took a step back, feeling cornered all of a sudden. Something dark lit up her eyes.  
>"Oh. So that's what's wrong. It was you, wasn't it?" He couldn't disagree.<p>

"That's not important right now. Come on, let's just go," Noah reached out to take a hold of her hand, to hurry towards the outskirts of the camp.  
>"Wait," she bid him, "I think we should use the animals, sir. Or else they'd find us in no time." He gave his assent, and watched as she went towards the two camels as well as horses, bringing them along with her by touches to their flanks. His eyebrows rose.<br>"We can't ride on all of them, can we?"

"That, sir, is not the point," the slave told him, before gesturing for him to sit on one of the camels. She heaved herself up on the other one, batting away his helping hand. "We'll release the other animals back in the wild," she explained for Noah's sake. "Once we've put enough distance between us, we'll have to continue the conversation we just left." Noah's attempt at deflection had not gone over well. Grumbling to himself, he agreed, although grudgingly. So they left, as dawn was approaching. Noah didn't really know how to handle the camel, and could only listen to the instructions Shirin gave him.

That was her name: she called herself Shirin. Also, for some reason, she couldn't stop with the 'sirs,' even though she was a slave no longer. The two of them set out, and, once at a suitable distance, let the horses go. They wouldn't be helpful in the harsh climate around them, since they'd need water and food at a greater rate than either of the camels. It was only to be hoped that they didn't return to the camp they'd just come from.

"There should be a Fanalis outpost hiding somewhere around here," Shirin stated, looking around them as the forest became immensely more harsher. It was probably that they were nearing desert land. "My aunt should be there, too. She'll vouch for us," her knuckles had grown white where she was holding on the ropes. How much of that was meant to assure herself, Noah wondered. How much of that was true - could there really be Fanalis that had made it untouched from those willing to kill and enslave them?

They continued the rest of the way in silence, until they'd reached an area where they could refill their water pouches. That had also been Shirin's contribution, who thought further than Noah himself did. "The stream should lead downhill to the outpost," Shirin proclaimed, wiping her mouth of the droplets of water that had gathered there. "It'd be better if we walk the rest of the way." She tilted her head meaningfully at him, and Noah dropped himself from his perch on the animal. He hadn't named it, because there was a possibility they'd have to kill them for meat. Noah had always wanted a pet, but in a hospital room that hadn't been possible.

Sure enough, the more downhill they went, the more signs of life were spread around. There were animal tracks combined with that of humans, as well as placed were the dry shrubbery had been cut through. Finally, the land became level and tool seemed to have disturbed the earth. There was a part of a fence. They continued walking until an area where the human tracks seemed to have become thrice times as chaotic, and a few of them disappeared though the animal tracks remained undisturbed. Shirin was paling, mumbling to herself: "Someone should have already noticed us, and our entrance should have been flagged...why is nobody here?"

Noah, his stomach tightening, could only think that something terrible must have happened. Then there was a sound in the distance, like a cry, and Shirin let go of the camel to sprint full speed towards where the noise had come from. Noah immediately reached a hand out to the camel's reigns, stepping past the tent that had been blocking both of their sights, only to see the dusty ground further into the open field had been dyed red. There were corpses lying haphazardly around, eyes open and dull. It looked a lot like the animals in a slaughter house...Noah bent over, he thought he was going to be sick, but only bile came out.

"Cousin!" a voice cried, wrought with anguish. It wasn't Shirin's voice. There was a survivor? Noah focused on that though, and pushed himself back on his feet. He didn't let his eyes rest on any of the bodies, avoiding the eyes in particular. "Phiroza," Shirin's voice answered, sounding lifeless and calm for it. Noah gazed out towards the right, in the direction of where he estimated the two of them to be. A child, heavily wounded, was leaning against the side of one of tents. Shirin was pressing her hand at the wound, trying to get the blood to stop. Noah made a beeline for them.

"They came here...ten of them, all of them with guns," Phiroza explained, before she coughed blood into her lap. "Not that long ago...not safe. Get away from here!" But Shirin, tears streaming over her face, shook her head and stayed knelled at her side. "Aunt Khanak, and the baby?" she asked instead, hushed now that she knew the enemy could still be around. Noah couldn't help but think that explained the freshness of the tracks they'd been following. More importantly, he tried to take a step back and leave because his life was a thing he had to safeguard at all costs, but hesitated at Shirin's grief.

"Morgiana," Phiroza began, "Was born a week ago. Mother took her away. Leave now!" It seemed to take her effort even to talk. That resulted in another wave of tears from Shirin, and even Noah was starting to feel his eyes grow wet. His was with relieve. The kin-killer hadn't been able to tear another mother and child from one another. Still, the pit in his stomach told him that the people who'd done this, who'd committed such an atrocity, was also part of the camp the kin-killer came from. It'd make sense, as Noah doubted the camp was made only out of two sisters, Nabarun, Ave, one boy, the chief and his father.

And she died. Shirin wiped her tears with the back of her hand, accepting Noah's hand up like how she hadn't earlier. There was anger on her face, wrath in the turmoil of her eyes. Noah knew at once that she wasn't planning on leaving - she was planning on taking revenge, like she'd wanted him to do. "We have to go," he told her, begin to shake her by the shoulders once a minute had passed by and she hadn't answered. Shirin whipped away from him.  
>"Don't touch me sir, with all due respect."<p>

Noah felt like dragging her bodily along. They had to go, like, yesterday already. That's when she picked up on his discontent and flapped a hand at him. "Just go. It's not my place to choose for you." Noah gave her a helpless look. He'd been given a body he could move, and for what? To live? Was that the only thing he had to look forwards to? But for his mother's sake, he couldn't risk it. He told her where he'd left the camels, before leaving himself.

As he heaved himself up, he knew he'd likely never see her again. And he didn't, but he didn't managed to get himself to safety either. About a week after he'd separated from Shirin, he was found when entering the desert outpost Qishan. It was the outpost Nayan was chief of, and the boy, Jamil, would be the chief when his old man died. Shirin wasn't with them. The kin-killer was keeping much better track of him, so he couldn't sneak out either.

"What happened to her?" Noah asked, sitting outside of the restaurant with Jamil sitting right next to him. He hadn't given up on them being friends, even-though it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Noah did not care for him, or for the situation in general. "I don't know," Jamil commented, petulant, and obviously he did know. Telling Noah when Noah was ignoring him wasn't something he'd like to do, though. Now he had knowledge to hold over him, which made it so Jamil was the one with the power.

Noah slumped in his seat. That was another person he knew off, dead. Maybe the only reason he was alive now, was because he was using the lives of those that should have lived? He didn't want to think about it at all, but the theory made sense. Maybe his bad karma would affect even Aalok but knowing his luck the man was all but immortal. His studies too, were continued, as he was taught another language along with the one he was already having difficulty keeping up with.

Years passed, before Noah was eight years old and finally trusted to go about his business alone. That meant Jamil had grown too, and grown more arrogant. He was no longer the faux-intellectual brat who wished for an equal. That was probably partly due to the death of his parents and the tutor Aalok had been able to find to teach them both. The strange man, part of a group called Al-Thamen, encouraged the child to torment his slaves and treat those around him like grave dirt. Before, he'd been snobbish and a brat, but he wouldn't go out his way to hurt people. Observe it happening, yes, but not partake. That had changed.

"Where are we going?" Noah asked, as Aalok ushered the both of them out of the house.  
>"Ronaq wishes for us to buy some things at the market. The slaves there are supposed to be unusually high in quality and he's decided it would do you both well to have responsibility over a living being," Aalok answered, carefree. It didn't seem to be bothering him that he was talking about buying other humans as anyone else would a pet. Ronaq was the name of the tutor.<p>

One thing stopped Noah in his tracks. He pointed at himself. "Me as well?" Ronaq tended to do his duty where Noah was concerned, but did not show him much interest otherwise. Looking after Noah was duty, while Jamil was entertainment.  
>"Great!" Jamil grinned, though the grin was rather distorted like seeing through a cracked looking glass. The boy turned towards Noah, gesticulating as he did.<br>"Don't you understand what this means?" he may have noticed Noah's distaste towards the prospect of owning a slave.

"Yes whatever, don't even try and preach your case," Noah warned. He quickened his pace before Aalok could comment.

Once they were at the centre of the outpost, at the bazaar were the slave market was taking place, the first thing Noah noticed was someone who looked like him. It was a girl, like Shirin, but her skin was even fairer. She was whimpering for her mother and father, clad only in a very small dress which was forced of her for a second to display her to the world. Noah paled with the realization that one of the reasons behind why she was on display, could only be for adult reasons. He turned away, allowing her the measure of dignity that he could.

"Does that one interest you?" Aalok mused, placing a hand on Jamil's shoulder. Noah's eyes widened in alarm. "NO!" and when the man turned to look at him, quickly came up with an excuse: "I'd like her myself." Before inwardly slapping himself for talking about her like a piece of meat. Jamil laughed, happy that he was agreeing with it and (seemingly) no longer so against owning a slave. He was kind enough to discontinue his claim for Noah's sake. A lot of people auctioned on her - since she was a Fanalis - but Aalok had enough money to win.

"Morgiana," she hiccuped, once shepherded over. Noah eyes widened. He'd found Shirin's cousin.

A/N A good way to get rid of egregious OCs is to kill them. Maybe I should do the same to Ella? *hums thoughtfully* :)


End file.
